“Yes. So, if he is gone no one is available to run Preston Corp. At least with him out of the picture but still presumed alive, Charlie and Todd are allowed to make some decisions.”
“Well then why the fuck do they need me?” Taylor shot back. She felt the blood pump harder in her temples from annoyance.
Derrick grinned as Taylor swore and lost her temper. “Because, there is a statute of limitations on how long they can do things and make major decisions—buying, selling, acquiring, they can’t do that. Only the CEO can.”
Taylor groaned and rolled her head back to look up at the ceiling. “This is a mess.”
“Unless you want to get married while—”
“No!” Taylor answered quickly.
Derrick raised his brows and tilted his head to the side. He opened his mouth, hesitated, and closed it again. After another couple of breaths he finally said, “You do realize that was the deal, Taylor, right?”
Taylor was so totally not digging his tone, the one that screamed duh. “Yes, I know that was the deal. But if you want the truth, Derrick, I am hoping to buy enough time to find a loophole.”
Derrick gaped at her.
“What?” Taylor snarled at him, and still Derrick just continued to stare. “This is for both of us, okay? You don’t want to marry me, Derrick, you just need to look responsible, and we don’t need to get married for that,” she informed him. When Derrick just kept gaping at her, she rambled on, “And it is 2015, the decree is beyond antiquated, it is entering obsolete territory, so, yeah, I want to not go through with a fake and loveless marriage.”
“Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?” Derrick asked quietly.
That was what he picked out of that whole thing? “Please, Derrick,” Taylor said, exasperated. She closed her eyes and thought about how great having pants on would be so she could leave the room and this conversation. That’s when inspiration struck. “Why would you?”
“Because … because …” Derrick sputtered and stuttered over his rebuttal. “Well, why not?”
“Exactly,” Taylor acknowledged, his non-answer only solidifying her point. “You can’t come up with a good reason, not even one good reason that doesn’t relate to a business association. And that’s not good enough for me.” And just to make sure she was clear, she added, “Besides, I don’t want to marry you.”
Derrick recoiled, looking highly insulted. “Why?” He asked, truly offended.
God, why is he pushing this? Taylor asked herself. He was a natural playboy, no-commitment, frat guy. He was not marriage material. And the last time they interacted, it ended badly, very badly. So how could being tied to her be anywhere on his radar?
“Derrick, come on—”
“No,” he cut in, “give me one reason why we shouldn’t?”
“Damn it, Derrick. I don’t love you!”
Derrick went pale and sank back into his chair.
Taylor felt guilty, but she pushed ahead, “And you don’t love me, Derrick. This whole thing is stupid.”
“I do love you,” Derrick said softly.
His declaration of love didn’t move Taylor because she knows what he was saying. “Okay, Derrick. You love me like you love Marty, but that is not good enough.” Taylor sighed and shook her head. She really should not have to explain this, but if it made it easier for him to understand she would. “I want someone to love me for me. Not because they like how I look, not because they want my money, but for me. Me, Derrick. Our parents had that,” she says, gesturing between them. “Why shouldn’t we get to have that too? Because of some ridiculous business decree created before women could even vote? No damn way.”
“I can make you happy,” Derrick said softly.
Taylor took a deep breath, “No, Derrick, you can’t, because this life will never make me happy. And I will never find someone who will love me for any other reason than because I am Taylor Preston. Or I will never know if their intentions are pure at least.”
“Well, I know you, and—”
“And you want me because of who I am. So, point proven,” Taylor pointed out.
“No, Taylor, that is not the reason I want you,” Derrick countered.
His voice, the thickness, it made Taylor blush. “Derrick, you don’t know what you want because you are doing what your father has told you to!”
“I know what I want, Taylor!” Derrick shouted. “Look, maybe I’m not a bearded beatnik with a guitar, but I am a good guy.”
Taylor’s eyes grew wide, and she held her breath.
Derrick sagged. The movement betrayed that he knew he had said something wrong and that the repercussions were going to be epic in a very bad way.
“Why would you say that?” Taylor asked softly.
Derrick looked down at his hands folded, and refused to meet Taylor’s glare.
“How do you know about him?”
Derrick didn’t speak. He didn’t move.
Now Taylor’s missing pants were the least of her concerns. She stood in front of Derrick, “Look at me,” she said through her teeth.
Derrick slowly raised his head, hesitantly meeting her eyes. His apology was written all over his face, but Taylor was way past caring or feeling compassion. “Answer. Me.” She spat the words at him.
Derrick opened his mouth, but Taylor cut him off as she pieced it all together, “You found me, didn’t you? It was you who tracked me down. It was you who brought me back here? Wasn’t it?”
Derrick just stared at her, clearly conflicted.
His silence enraged Taylor.
“Wasn’t it?” Taylor shouted at him. She wanted an answer; she wanted to hear him say it.
“Yeah,” he said, standing. “It was me. I found you, Taylor.”
Taylor slapped Derrick’s cheek so quickly she not only surprised Derrick but herself as well. His head flipped to the side like a page in the wind.
“Why did you do this to me?” she asked in a whisper. Her hand was killing her, but her chest hurt worse from trying not to cry. “You knew I didn’t want this life. You knew that was all I ever said. I could have been happy. I could have found something different, something better—”
“What, living a lie, Taylor? “ Derrick shot back. “And then what? Huh? What would you say to all the people in your new life when you revealed who you really were? Or would you live the rest of your life behind your wig and contacts, pouring coffee?”
“At least I would be happy!” she shot back, burned by the reality of Derrick’s words.
“No, Taylor, you wouldn’t,” Derrick said, shaking his head sadly. “Eventually you would have heard about Preston Corporation’s decline, and you would have had to come back, to intervene. Because you and I understand the responsibility we have, that we were born into. And that guilt would have eaten you up. I just brought you back before it was too far gone.”
He was right, but at that moment an irritating beeping sounded in the room. Derrick reflexively looked at his phone, but Taylor had recognized the beep as her text message. Her phone was on the bedside table. It was antiquated compared to Derrick’s. It had only been for emergencies in the beginning, just a convenience store phone. As she had given the number out and started getting texts, she had realized it wasn’t designed for multiple text messages, so she had told people to call her instead, but she still got the occasional text.
She walked over to her phone, flipped it open, and retrieved the text. It was a lengthy process compared to the more popular devices. It was amazing how fast technology changed.
She heard Derrick mutter something like “They still make those?” and she sliced her eyes back to him.
“Yeah, they do, because people in the real world don’t have the unlimited funds for some luxuries, Prince Derrick. And this let me be untraceable. I didn’t sign up for a plan,” she replied sardonically as she looked down at her message and stiffened.
Where r u? They said u quit. R u OK?
It’s Ben. Oh man, Ben. She had lost him,
lost it all. Lost the freedom and the anonymity. Taylor closed her eyes at the thought that she was back to bubble world. Back to living under a microscope.
“Who is it?” Derrick asked softly. But Taylor didn’t answer him, because she doesn’t have to, and because she was too busy planning her pity party, thank you very much. She was so busy picking out the balloons, she didn’t notice as Derrick sidled up and read over her shoulder. What brought her back was him grabbing her phone away from her. When she spun to face him, Taylor was surprised to find Derrick angry, very angry. His face was red, and he had a death grip on her phone.
“Derrick, give me my phone,” she was not intimidated by his behavior. He could take his spoiled-brat temper tantrum elsewhere.
“No,” he said, tight-lipped, nostrils flaring.
What was his problem? “It wasn’t a request,” Taylor seethed back at him. “Give me my phone!” Taylor shouted.
“He isn’t part of you anymore, you can’t—”
“Don’t tell me what to do, Derrick. I have had enough of all that fucking idiocy! Give me my phone!”
“He’s not good enough for you, I know—”
“You don’t know anything!”
“I know you! And he,” Derrick said, shaking the phone in her direction, “he isn’t good enough.”
“You don’t know me, Derrick,” Taylor said tensely.
“I know you—”
“No, you don’t. You just don’t get me,” she said mockingly. She dug deep and brought up that pivotal part of their past in just one statement.
Derrick’s eyes lit at the words, and Taylor knew he made the connection to the insult she was throwing.
And it set Derrick off.
A cracking noise filled the room, and Taylor looked down to see her phone shattering into pieces in Derrick’s fist, chunks falling to the ground. Suddenly Derrick dropped the rest onto the floor and pounded the thing under his foot.
Taylor looked down, absolutely stunned, her mouth hanging open. Derrick had always been kind of mellow, and she had really only seen him angry once. But his outburst just now had been born of more than anger. He had just raged over her last connection to her previous life. Her big lie, as he had pointed out.
His reaction left Taylor lost. Yeah she had been through a lot in the last eighteen hours, but she thought she knew Derrick. This behavior, so unlike him, made her question everything. Was this how he handled things now? Had he traded the partying and booze for aggressive behavior? I really don’t know him, Taylor thought, I really don’t know anything anymore. She looked at Derrick, and he seemed almost as shocked by his behavior as she was.
A tear made its way down Taylor’s cheek, and Derrick reached out to wipe it away. Taylor sidestepped him. “Give me clothes,” she said, looking at the floor.
“Taylor, I’m sorry. I—”
“Derrick, give me clothes,” she repeated. There was another moment of hesitation, and then Derrick walked through a door and returned with a Louis Vuitton luggage bag. He held the strap out toward Taylor, and she snatched it from him, never looking up. “Where is the guest room?”
“Taylor, get ready in—” Derrick’s voice was pleading, but Taylor cut him off.
“Where is the guest room?”
Derrick sighed. Defeated, he answered, “There are three down the hall. Take your pick.”
Taylor marched down the hall, finding the room farthest away from him, and slammed the door. She walked straight into the bathroom, turned on the water in the white marble open shower, sat on the edge of the soaker tub, and started to sob.
Emotions swirled through Taylor’s head. She was angry that she was here and stuck with this mess and paired up with Derrick. She was scared that she was going to mess this whole thing up, that she would fail and let everything that was good about Preston Corp. be left in the dust, just a memory. And most of all she was sad because she had no one to turn to. When she was honest with herself, she knew deep down that Derrick could be the one person she could hang onto, but once again Derrick Fletcher had let her down.
He was right, though. She would have come back eventually; she never would have been able to lie forever. He just brought her back before things were totally irreparable. She should thank him.
But she wouldn’t because she had been happy and free, and he had taken all that away from her too soon. And now look at the mess she was in. And who the hell was he now? Going off the deep end about a text message like a freaking lunatic, scaring the crap out of her.
The thick steam in the room alerted Taylor that it was time to step in and wash it down the drain. She showered, scrubbing herself until she was bright pink. She stepped out and dried herself. Then she went to the mirror and wiped away the steam. She stood and stared at herself like she had the night before. She was waiting for a pep talk to come and give her hope and confidence like the one she had gotten the night before. But she had nothing.
“You have to move forward, Taylor. You have no choice.” That was all she had. She gave her reflection a quick nod, and then she went to the bag and pulled out a pair off lacy underwear and a camisole. In the bottom of the bag she saw what appeared to be lingerie.
In spite of her mood, Taylor smiled. Marty, the eternal romantic, was always looking to set the mood. She dug more and was grateful to find some leggings and a loose tunic.
Too bad Marty had wasted so much time on lingerie, Taylor mused. Because if it was business she had come back to handle; it was business she was going to keep with her and Derrick. NOT romance.
Chapter Four
The door slammed down the hallway, and Derrick hung his head in defeat.
“Well, that went well,” he muttered sarcastically to the air.
If someone had told him as a child that there would be a time when he and Taylor would not be friends, a time where she would not like him, even hate him, and not want to be in the same room with him he would have laughed.
But here it was.
His mom used to say they had just clicked, just gone together like puzzle pieces, made to fit together. And even though they had drastically different personalities—he short-tempered, and she thoughtful and slow to act— together they just made sense.
And nothing had made their mothers happier than the two of them getting along. Both his mom and Taylor’s mom had not come from money and felt totally out of place being thrust into the spotlight after marrying two legacy-laden billionaires. It was their discomfort in their new haute-couture reality that formed their thick bond, and the fact they married best friends helped too. When Taylor and Derrick came along, Delia Fletcher and Elizabeth Preston thrust the two together, and it had worked.
All through childhood it had been him and Taylor. They played, schemed, pranked, and plotted, Taylor the thorough, thoughtful, brainy one, and Derrick her eager footman. It was never dull, and Derrick smiled, remembering the time they stole every sugar cube from both mansions in order to build a fort that promptly melted in the scorching California sun and led to a nasty ant infestation.
And then it happened seemingly overnight. Suddenly Derrick was thirteen and he noticed what he never had before: Taylor was a girl. And not just any girl, but a really pretty girl with pretty eyes and a mouth he wanted to put his on. She was a girl he didn’t just want to hang out with but that he wanted to kiss too.
But he wasn’t the only one who noticed Taylor’s gender and appeal; his friends did too.
“Hey, D, can you talk to Taylor for me?”
“No.”
“She is hot man!”
“No, she is Taylor!”
It suddenly became a full-time job to try and keep his friends away from Taylor. And she was no help.
“Some of the guys think you’re pretty,” he told her one day, expecting her to be as disgusted at them as he was, but it didn’t happen.
“Really? Who?” she had asked excitedly.
And it pissed Derrick off big time, “Does it matter?” He had been hoping to
play it cool, smoothly lead up to the fact that he too thought she was pretty, but apparently it wasn’t going to work out that way. Instead she eagerly awaited his answer.
“Yeah,” she answered, “I think they are cute too.”
He never did answer her. He just spent time with other girls, trying to make Taylor jealous. That tactic always seemed to work for his friends. And his time with the other girls let him test out and perfect his moves while he waited for Taylor to become enraged.
But it didn’t work out that way.
Instead, Taylor—ever polite and interested in Derrick’s life—would ask about his new girlfriends, what they were into, what they would be doing.
What was he supposed to do next? Ignore her, his friends insisted; it worked every time.
But it didn’t send her running to him like they had promised; she was just patient and understanding. And when she tried to talk or call, he just told her he didn’t have time. And she let him be for a long time. “Mom said you need to sew something,” she told him once. “Oats, wild oats,” she had laughed when he brushed her off for the millionth time. “Who sews oats?” she laughed as she walked away.
Push her away. That was his friends’ final advice. She wouldn’t be able to resist the guy who didn’t want her.
But they were wrong again.
“Taylor, we can’t be friends anymore.”
Time stopped when he had said those words. He remembered everything after they left his mouth in crazy detail: Taylor’s lips quivering, the way her skin paled, and the tears that filled her gorgeous eyes.
“Why?” she whispered.
Play it cool, he told himself, and he did. “We just can’t.”
“But we are best friends, how can—”
“You just don’t get me, Taylor,” he told her, and watched her jaw drop open with the slow comprehension that he was killing their friendship.
And then she was gone, and the pain was immediate.
Inevitable Inheritance: The Inevitable Series | Book One Page 5